Dinosour moments

Sitting in church on Sunday morning so thankful to be with friends, singing, praying, and thankful to have the opportunity to take communion. I looked down our row with tears in my eyes as Hubby was explaining what was about to happen in communion to our newest son. That is when I happened to glance at Little Man who was happily serving part of his communion bread to his plastic dinosaur.

There are moments. Moments when I shake my head and wonder if all that we are teaching our kids is sinking in.

With my sternest mommy look and my “I mean business even though I am whispering” voice I said. “Little Man, Dinosours do not get communion!”

There are moments. Moments when things come out of my mouth that I can not even believe that I am saying. Really? Do we need to explain this? I looked nervously around to see who was catching my son in the act. While traditions surrounding kids and communion differ, our heritage has allowed children to particiate when ready. We have always been firm believers in explaining sacraments to our kids, and when they believe, we have them participate alongside us. In that moment I could see the other side – why our practice could be questioned!

Little Man’s response to my stern whisper in not such a whisper voice. (He really is our loudest child and is not capable of whispering.) “Mom, EVERYONE needs to be reminded of what Jesus did for us.”

Schooled.

So I let my seven year old finish his communion and share the juice with his favorite T-Rex. There is room in our traditions and rituals for children to show us the way.

There are moments when I realize that this parenting thing is hard, but these kids might turn out okay after all. But then again, as I am typing this my three year old has a plastic triceratops stuck up his nose digging out snot. No spiritual justification for that one. My work is not done.

Sweating it out with my teen

My goal – is to thrive as a momma of six babies, not just survive. At times that feels like a lofty goal. I mean, come on, there are a lot of lessons to teach, mouths to feed and oh the mounds of laundry.

One of my tricks for thriving (besides praying, daily devotions and talking with my hot husband) is exercise. I learned about three years ago that 25 minutes a day of aerobic exercise really is a game changer for me. I sluffed off through our crazy season and just decided that it was time to become religious about my daily workout…again.

The struggle is real – when I am homeschooling 5 children with a pre-schooler on my hip, trying to keep everyone fed, trying to keep the peace and my sanity to boot….well, finding 25 minutes in my day can seem like an insurmountable task. The other day, I pulled out my weights and my workout video and set myself up right next to B in the living room. I usually like to hide in my room and tell the kids that I can’t talk and do knee lifts. But, I was running late – again. B needed to do his physical therapy excercises and he does better if I am right with him – but I saw my morning slipping away and I really wanted to get my workout done too.

We have started physical therapy with B. It has been a long on-ramp with some bumps along the way as we have begun to figure out what he needs and how to help him to reach his healthiest. There have been days when I have wondered if I am the best for this job, and if I am being honest, it has caused me some stress.

I handed B the bar that he uses for his arm lifts and started my workout. He laughed as he watched me huff and puff. “What are you doing?”

“Exercising just like you.” I told him. “Today we are doing it together.”

For several moments, He watched me as if I was a crazy creature, but then he started on his reps too. I would pause my workout to switch him to his next excersice and he would exclaim – “Keep going, mom!”

There was one point when he was laying on the floor while I was also laying down….”I can do that one too,” he told me watching me lift my arm weights. It was his best at home physical therapy yet. He mimicked my exercises and laughed at my air punches and kicks. There is something about doing things together.

Modeling life for my kids. If I want them to exercise – then I better be at it myself. Reading their Bibles, then I need to let them see me doing it.

If I leave my cup laying around, you bet your bottom dollar they will do the same. That is the easiest one for me to tackle. Harsh words, impatience, judgmental comments. Let’s just say I struggle with more than keeping a daily exercise routine. I don’t want my kids to struggle with the same weaknesses.

Chores with joy, serving willingly, loving our neighbor, forgiving, passionate worship, sharing, standing with the oppressed…These are what I hope for my children’s lives. The question is, am I living it out in front of them?

Recently while riding in the car with my dad, I heard a random quote on the Southern Gospel station of the radio. “Teens have a hard time listening to their parents, but they are good at imitating them.” My dad laughed out loud. I am sure he was picturing some of the rowdy kids from his days of being an elementary principal. I didn’t laugh. With three teenagers in the house, I for sure hear the truth of this statement ringing loud and clear. Sobering and a bit scary, if I am being honest.

The success of physical therapy this week has me thinking. What am I modeling for my kids? What do I want them to see? Are their some of my habits and behaviors that I should change that would result in a positive change in their immitating behaviors?

This week, I am going to let my kids see me exercise. Humbling. A bit embarrassing. But frankly, I want my kids to see that it is important to work at being healthy and to take care of ourselves.

Sweating it out with my teen today, but I don’t want to stop there. Praying God gives me the wisdom and grace to keep modeling how to live life as a Jesus follower to the most important people in my life. That will help us all to thrive.

To utter His name

When Soccer Dude was about 6 or 7 years old (could that really be 10 whole years ago?) He was almost hit by a bus. It is kinda a long story that really could only happen in our neck of the woods. (Forgive me if you have already heard this story! But, I must say it is one worth telling and one worthy of me spending brain power on not forgetting.) The road in front of the university was closed for construction. New pavement had been laid, and it was smooth and beautiful. It was Sunday and there was no one around (rare), so we decided to let Soccer Dude practice his new skill of bike riding on the smooth surface. It was going great until: 1. He got further ahead of me than I had planned. 2. A bus for some unknown reason had come behind the construction barrier and was cruising down the same smooth road that my oblivious 7 year old was on. I saw it all playing out before my eyes. There was nothing I could do to stop it. That is when I heard a crazy scream come from my own lips….”Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”

I could think of nothing to do. It seemed as if my soul took over for me and yelled for the only one who could help me in that moment.

I have thought of this story often over the past 18 months. I don’t know about you, but there are so many times I just don’t even know what to pray.

When I am sitting in a doctor’s office and wondering what the outcome of a test will be for my son – “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”

Standing in the cemetery next to my mother’s grave – “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”

Filing paperwork upon paperwork in the quest for a visa – “Jesus.”

Holding my sobbing three year old in need of some grace after a tantrum – “Jesus, Jesus.”

Hugging a dear friend who just lost her husband to a heart attack at the early age of 53. “Oh, Jesus.”

When I get miraculous news of the birth of a new niece. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”

Sitting in the passenger side of our Expedition with Soccer Dude behind the wheel learning to drive. “JESUS!”

I am learning to pray in a whole new way – in a way that is just a cry from my heart when my soul longs for God. Taking a breath, pausing, uttering HIS name and knowing that is enough.

I am calling on the name that brings hope. The name that brings comfort. The name that is so powerful and gentle. My Jesus who died – but more than that – was raised to life — The One who is at the right hand of God interceding for us. (Romans 8:34). His name I can call on when all other words fail me. I can come to him when I am overwhelmed with the joy and beauty of this life and in my desperation over the pain, injustice and heart ache. In confidence I come. That is the most beautiful part of this. The world wants us to think that when we are desperate we are a groveling hopeless mess. Actually, when we come to a point where we are only able to say his name, we can do it with confidence knowing that he gets us. Knowing he desires to help us.

We do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have One who has been tempted in every way, just as we are — yet He did not sin. Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. — Hebrews 4:15-16

Recently, our new teenage son yelled out for me. “Mom!” My head came up and I dropped all that I was doing to go to his aid. He needed a hand – it was a small thing, but I delighted in knowing that he was beginning to trust me. To call me mom. To seek out my help. How much more does our Heavenly Father delight in us doing the same?

There are times for long conversations with my Savior. Times for praying Scripture, reciting the Lord’s Prayer, and times for writing it all down in my journal. But I think my most honest prayers are the ones that are covered just by uttering his name.

I think when this crazy white woman was screaming his name in the middle of her Asian neighborhood – God saw. He knew there was nothing I could do to stop that bus. He knew my heart was stopping and I was about to panic. Did he stop the bus from hitting Soccer Dude? I don’t know. The outcome may have been the same if I hadn’t yelled his name – but my heart wouldn’t have been. In that moment I knew what I trusted in….or better, in whom I trusted. I am working to trust that name in all of the moments of my life.

I am no theologian. Just a woman facing real problems in the world seeking answers. But I am learning that a simple prayer can make the difference in the pain and suffering I see around me.

No pity hugs, please.

I am new at this – but I am not. Maybe, I just feel new to being a mom to special ability kids because I still fumble to find the right words. I don’t think quick enough on my feet to diffuse a surprising situation, and I am still shocked over how folks will treat someone they see as disabled.

I want to start by saying that I don’t intend to rant or rave. I am not complaining, and I am not sure a blog post is the place to really help anyone understand kiddos with special needs. Inspired by this post, I realize that we have to tell the stories of our amazing kids. I really think that many people have not spent time with kiddos who might be labeled in society as disabled. So, I hope this post can serve as a peek at some of the things we face, comments that are made, and what we experience.

Little Man has spent times in and out of a wheelchair leading up to and after re-amputation surgeries. We always have to find a new rhythm. During these times, I realize anew how inaccessible the world can be to those who are immobile, as well as how unaware folks can be.

For example, there is one handicapped stall in the bathroom. Four other stalls are unoccupied, but for some reason the handicapped stall is being used. The desire for extra leg room means that Little Man has to wait unnecessarily to go to the bathroom. What stall your choose in the bathroom…it matters.

At the grocery story, children point, stare and ask rude questions like, “What is wrong with you?” – and all the while the parent stands by gawking. Saying nothing. Word choice matters. Body language matters. I so wish in these situations (Yes, I did mean to make that plural. You could change the location from grocery store to park, church, beach….it happens everywhere.) I wish I could pull the child and parent aside – smile and say- “Let’s not use those words. How about you ask us about the bandage or about the wheelchair?

At times even when comments aren’t made, folks will turn away (or even run from us) hoping to avoid uncomfortable situations or words. Like one day at the park when Little Man’s leg falls off coming down a slide. A child sees his leg flying down the slide first. She screams. Cries. Instead of helping his daughter engage and understand, her dad grabs her by the arm and literally runs. Their park visit cut short because they just weren’t sure what to say or do when my son’s leg came off at a bad time.

I am not new at this. We have been learning the language to use. Preparing our children how to be kind even when those around us don’t exactly know how to handle us. I step in to explain and hopefully help those we encounter to see the world through the eyes of our kiddos….just a little bit. Our goal is for our kids to understand that they are special, loved, unique. There is nothing wrong with them.

So, I thought I was ready. A teen in a wheelchair kinda fits with my experience.

But, not really.

I wasn’t prepared for everyone who really is trying. They want to connect – to include our son in conversation and to help him experience things around him. I think folks just don’t know how to do that. They look at him and wish his life was different – that he didn’t have to be in a wheelchair – and wonder why life handed him this difficult hand. (In other words – pity.)

I truly want to believe that this all comes from a very good place in the hearts of people – but there are just a few things I wish I knew how to change…..

I am walking through the store with two teenage sons. If you wouldn’t dream of patting my other teenage son standing beside me on the head, then please do not consider doing that to my teen in a wheelchair. No head pats. It also is not appropriate to push his chair for him, to offer to help with wheelchair transfers, to ask about his medical condition, to lean down into his personal space or to hug him.

(Frankly, hugging is a big deal. No pity hugs. No. No. No. And actually while we are on the subject – not pity waves, no pity hellos, and hold all pity comments to yourself.)

Why? Why do I become tongue twisted when a woman at church leans down to my teenage son kisses him on top of the head and hugs him? My son who she had never met before. My son who is in a wheelchair and can not lean away. That, my friends, was a pity hug. A hug that says I wish life wasn’t like this for you.

I appreciate the sentiment and the effort, but I really wish I had the chance to have a redo with this woman. I would explain to her that my son has strength, perseverance, and a good attitude thru tremendously difficult situations. I’d invite her to sit with us and get to know how amazing he is…just the way God made him. I have learned so many things from him. I know this woman could too – then she would be in a place to give him a real hug.

At an airport playground a boy came up to Little Man who was wearing shorts and pointed to his leg. “That is weird.” He said. My son replied….”It isn’t weird. Let me show you.” He takes off his leg and starts to hop. “My super power is that I can hop longer than anyone else.” The little boy and his brother stood and stared. I was biting my nails wondering when I should jump in myself. Then I heard the words….”Wow! That is so cool!” Before this lion momma did anything in defense of her cub, Little Man had half of the kids in the play place hopping on one leg. He did out last them all. The next hour was filled with good play. That is how change happens. Weird turns to cool. Pity never takes root. Abilities are seen and applauded.

B won’t be having hopping contests at a play place, but you can get to know him too. He enjoys conversation. You can do this by taking a step back so you can look him in the eyes, pull up a chair next to him or even squatting down next to his chair. (Not sure if I can explain, but that is all very different than leaning down into his space.) Listen to his newest tongue twister – he loves finding new ones in Chinese and now in English too. He loves playing board games and going for walks. You could hold the door for us. Let B carry your bag. He loves helping and is awesome at teaching folks new words in Chinese if you are interested in learning.

Hopping along side my one legged wonder or sitting next to my strong teen – that is where you will find hope alive. Those are the positions that make change happen. Help us write a different story – a story of open communication and seeing things from a different perspective.

More than the birds

Airport terminals, a sick room, government offices, a cemetery, and doctor offices…these are very intense places – places where I have spent a good deal of time since the beginning of the year. If I were to focus on this list, I might call 2018 a year of stress, sorrow and changes. Some days, if I am being honest, the adjectives that reflect stress and sorrow might be those I pull out first. The struggle is real.

But there is another list: cards, gifts, hugs, gentle words, advice over coffee, flowers, furniture, a vehicle, practical help, food, prayers.

Our lifestyle and work, it relies on the generosity of God and his people. I feel it often and am humbled. However, during this season – I can’t find the words to express how God has spoken to my heart through the small and large gestures of those around us.

When I was in the States, separated from my hubby and little ones – visiting with my mom knowing it was her last days and counting down the days until we would add our 6th child through adoption – life felt so out of control. I found rest at a chair in my parents’ living room next to a huge bay window that looks out over their backyard. The snow was persistent during my visit. It felt like a new beauty to me, since I hadn’t experienced a Michigan winter in so many years. I sat in that chair (a big, leathery one with a foot rest that bangs out with a lever) and watched the cardinals at the bird feeder. Their color is shocking against the snow. Breathtaking really. Even the female who is brown and not as pretty as her mate – there is something about watching for her bright orange beak seeking out her treasure. Day after day as I watched for the pair of birds, God reminded me of the simple truth that I had learned in Sunday School from Matthew 6:26

See the birds of the sky, that they don’t sow, neither

do they reap, nor gather into barns. Your heavenly Father

feeds them. Aren’t you of much more value than they?

Those birds were consistently sitting on the edge of the feeder swinging in the cold wind….like the storm around them didn’t matter. It was such a beautiful reminder. I kept telling myself, “I can trust God during my storms. I can trust Him with the days ahead. I can trust God with this new season.”

We have entered a new season. A season with six children and a season without my mom. Both are taking some getting used to. So we are pulling back a bit – spending some time near my dad and taking a few months in the States. We feel like this is God’s provision for us. As we help my dad clean out the basement and find a new normal, it is a treasure in the midst of my grief. Days well spent.

We also see these months as a time to get a new leg made for Little Man (can you believe he has outgrown that prosthetic again?!), and we have the chance to get some needed medical care and physical therapy for our new son, B. We have some digging to do to find out how to make him as healthy as possible – we would appreciate your prayers.

B has been with our family for almost two months now and is doing great. We are so proud of him. He is studying English with gusto, takes in our family chaos with a silent smile, and is ever willing to try new things. I seriously can’t even describe how amazing he is.

How? How can a kid grow up in an orphanage and still be this sweet, open, and courageous? It is one of the many miracles that surround B…another treasure. I look at him and see how God has provided – provided something I didn’t even know that I wanted or needed. He has given us new love and the chance to be a part of B’s miraculous journey. Could there be a better gift for me in this season?

God values and loves me even more than the birds.

A birthday to remember

I am one of those moms. You know the type. The sappy (let a few tears drip into the frosting as I make cupcakes for my babies who seem to grow a year older behind my back) momma. But this birthday celebration – a few tears did not do it justice. Every time I looked at our new son on his birthday, tears sprang to my eyes.

We have missed 13 birthdays with this boy. 13. Adding emotion to that fact, we have been counting down the days to this 14th birthday. It was the deadline. If we did not have all of his adoption paperwork completed by his birthday, it was a no go. By Chinese law children are unadoptable at their 14th birthday.

We adopted him 10 days before his birthday.

Can I just type that sentence one more time so that you can feel the force of its drama? 10 days before his birthday he got a family. His miracle (and ours) happened 10 days before it was too late. That is worthy of many grateful tears from this momma. Amen?! Call me sappy if you want.

We enjoyed celebrating our new son on his 14th birthday which happened to fall on Chinese New Year’s Eve due to the lunar calendar. We made cupcakes and had gifts, but added making dumplings (traditional Chinese New Year food), staying up till midnight and setting off fireworks. It is a birthday, for many reasons, that we won’t forget.

A few more photos of our dumplings and Chinese New Year celebration….

and a few more words about how our transition is going.

We were preparing for a rough road with a teenager who hasn’t lived with a family. Instead, we are experiencing grace filled days with a delightful young man who is embracing his new life….and our family. We feel incredibly blessed. Maybe it is the honeymoon phase – but we are taking every moment and storing up these sweet memories that will be treasured and will help if harder days come. We would appreciate your continued prayers as we get to know each other and find a new normal for our family. We are starting the Chinese New Year with thankful hearts for all that God has done to make our family and with great hope of all that will come to pass in this year of the dog!

Family Day

This is the story of a 13 year old boy who joined our crazy crew.

If I am completely honest, the story of this child being added to our family is one that I can only fully tell sitting at my kitchen table over a cup of coffee with extra sugar and cream. Even then, I am sure I would struggle with the words to describe…..the surprise factor. Miraculous provision. Hurdles that God overcame. Agencies willing to work over time on our behalf. Generous friends and family. Anxiety over the unknown – sweet confirmation in the face of the fear and grief. Obstacles. Tears. Victory.

Oh, the stories I have to share.

Friend, until we meet for coffee, these photos and few words will have to do. They will give you a peek at the miraculous adoption that took place.

I have never been so relieved to be in a government office signing papers and pressing our fingers into red ink. We promised to care for and not abandon the teen, who sat next to us taking it in silently with wide eyes. As the translator explained to “B” what we were signing, my hands shook as so many thoughts came to my mind. “Can he understand that we truly mean the promises we are making? How long will it take for him to trust that we are the forever deal?”

I thought that signing the papers felt big to me, but as I watched this brave, strong boy sign his own name as he agreed to enter a new strange life, I cried. I cried because of the hurdles had been crossed to make this possible. God had brought us together. I sniffled because a child should never have to sign this type of paper. My heart screamed at the idea of all that had happened before this day.

A child being without family is an injustice – everything that leads up to it should not be. But there is redemption. When I look at the smile on B’s face in this next photo….when we were holding the book that gives him our last name…it reminds me that there are second chances at love that only come about through grace.

A new beginning with three brothers and two sisters and some crazy white parents – that might just take any strong person down. But this guy entered our family and home with a quiet smile and a determination that puts me to shame.

We spent our first afternoon playing games and getting to know each other on these new terms we have agreed to. I am not sure what I expected, but for sure I didn’t think he would be laughing over Uno and Quick Cups. I never dreamed he would be calling us mom and dad. I never would have pictured him leaning in to tell his new sister a joke with a gleam in his eye.

We celebrated this new chapter in our lives at our favorite Chinese restaurant- Hot Pot. As a party of 8, we now fill a whole table by ourselves. I took it all in wanting to treasure the moment in my heart – all of us together.

As joyful as a new beginning can be, it also means an end. Our brave new son needed to say goodbye to the home he has known for the past nine years. The next day we walked the halls of the orphanage handing out small gifts trying to help B find a bit of closure.

The story I wish you all could hear and understand – it would be a story of the generosity and love that I witnessed as the children and nannies said goodbye. I wish I had a photo of the teen (who will never be adopted because he was not chosen before his 14 birthday) who pressed a few small bills of Chinese currency into the palm of B’s hand stating “Good luck in your new life.” I wish you could see the hat that another teen gave – a teen who B calls “big brother.” I can’t describe the tender moments of his teacher who cried as she hugged his neck. And for sure, I can’t even describe how wrecked my heart was by his nanny. She pulled me aside sobbing – “I will miss him. He has been like a friend. But I can’t tell you how happy I am that he is saved from a lifetime in the institution. Do you know how bad the place is where the 17 year old kids go?” She cried as she shook my hand saying, “Thank you for taking him.”

Over the past month, I have had a heightened awareness of joy and grief and how they go hand in hand. My heart has struggled to comprehend my deep grief as I said goodbye to my mom, but the sweet relief and joy I felt at knowing her struggle was over. I am over 40 and I can hardly handle the depths of those two emotions that stand side by side in my life.

As I look at my new son, I see the joy and the grief that co-exist. I understand it in a way I never did before. How hard it must be at 13 years old to say goodbye to all you have known, even when you understand something as good as a forever family is waiting for you.

Our first days together have been great. He is accepting us, trying all the crazy American food that I serve him, and learning all the rules to the games the kids pull out to teach him – but please do pray for him. Pray that he feels comfort and peace that go beyond his understanding. Pray he is able to experience new joy every morning. Also please pray for us – that God will guide us in knowing how to love and care for him well.